


Choooooo. 1/1.

by punky_96



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Minions, choooooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 09:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13338390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: New fic, not transfer fic.Someone has changed the Runway crew into Minions, will Miranda miss a step?I miss being able to choose the 'cut tag text', I was going to go with, "MIRANDA IS KING."  You'd click for more, right?Fandom Note:  Yes, this is also a nod to Despicable Me, but I really don't want to claim it as a full crossover.





	Choooooo. 1/1.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XVnot15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XVnot15/gifts).



**Title** : Choooooo. 1/1.  
**Characters** : Miranda/Minions  
**Prompt** : Blame XV :)  
**Word Count** : 8234  
**Rating** : PG-13  
**Summary** : Someone has changed the Runway crew into Minions, will Miranda miss a step?  
**Beta** : GinStan and Pdt_bear  
**Disclaimer** : standard disclaimer on my fic community and my LJ page  
**A/N** : tee hee. Hello there, Gin! We have been productive :)  
**A/N 1** : Universal Studios Orlando and Los Angeles (Hollywood) have Minion Mayhem attractions.

Dedicated to the one and the only, Minion #1, Xenavirgin :)

 

_**Chooooooooooo. 1/1.** _

_**Prologue.** _

Sitting across from Dr. Nefario, Irving Ravitz trailed his finger around the rim of his coffee cup. The man was a disaster—talking too loud, hearing that was intermittent in ways that selective hearing could barely match, and slouched into a caricature of himself. Irving hated himself—for being beaten in Paris, for being unable to out plan the silver fox, for being willing to meet this misshapen scientist. The coffee shop made up for the lack of privacy by having few to no customers. Dr. Nefario could be as loud as he wanted and no one would think anything beyond the fact that he was a lunatic. Perhaps that impression was not far from the truth. Unfortunately, Irving didn’t like what that made him.

Instead he focused on the offer being made by Dr. Nefario—turn Miranda’s precious Runway crew into Evil Minions. She could keep her job, at least until they blew her up or otherwise sabotaged her out of her office. She could keep her budget. She could keep it all—she’d worked so hard clawing her way to the top. However, the team that surrounded her, defended her, protected her, leaped over tall buildings for her? Well, with a zap and a fizzle they would be miniature, creative monsters bent on destruction. Miranda would be unable to call in the calvary, because they would have been morphed into mad purple dervishes of themselves.

“How do I know Gru won’t warn Miranda?” Irving asked the only question that mattered.

“I’ve not talked to that Do-Gooder in weeks and I took the plans for the conversion gun when I left.” Dr. Nefario leaned forward and fixed a pair of lucid and determined eyes on Irving Ravitz. For all of his faults, the scientist appeared solid on this plan. “Can’t warn about what he don’t know.” Dr. Nefario nodded his head and closed his jaw in a bit of a huff to punctuate his point.

“I thought you had to grow those critters in some sort of greenhouse.” Irving wanted to be clear. He’d never heard of a conversion gun to morph other living beings into minions of either kind.

Dr. Nefario grinned wickedly and leaned back in his chair. “Can grow ‘em. Sure can.” He lifted his weathered hand up and pointed it at Irving Ravitz before miming shooting at him. “In Los Angeles and Orlando they line up to become minions, you know. We had to figure out an easy way to let all the volunteers join up.” He laughed wickedly. “I didn’t create only the one kind of minion though. The purples, they are a whole different creature, they are.”

Leaning forward, Irving moved the conversation along. “When? The bitch is back next week. She’s been nursing her divorce depression upstate instead of gloating her Elias-Clarke victory. I want her homecoming to be memorable.” He didn’t make air quotes on the words, though his petulant tone did it for him.

“Plenty of time. Zap ‘em in the morn’ afore their mistress’ arrival.” Dr. Nefario once again fixed Irving with an expression of clarity and likeminded purpose. “Be here Sunday at four.” He shuffled forward bumping the table as he went.

Before Irving could formulate a response the eccentric doctor had slipped out the door.

 

 

_**Part 1/1** _

Sweeping across the lobby, Miranda barely noticed the construction scaffolding outside Elias-Clarke. Hearing a strange murmur around her accompanied by what could only be described as a chant of adoration, Miranda glared over the top of her sunglasses around the entryway at large. Not seeing anyone and being greeted by instant silence, she pushed her glasses back up and carried forward to the elevator bank.

When the button lit up and made its usual sound, an oddly misshapen fellow in a brown leather hat and a disgusting trench coat, next to Miranda cried out, “Ping,” before giggling madly and tottering away as the door slid open.

Noting that she would need to reinforce the behavioral sanctions put in place against the racing boys from Automotive Universe, Miranda pressed 17 and leaned back against the railing. Normally, she would not allow herself the weakness. Today, she felt the need to brace herself as she faced Runway for the first time after a three-week absence and without Andrea’s soulful brown eyes and beatific smile to greet her.

Before the door slid completely closed, two snack carts careened by piloted by two yellow figures pushing and shoving each other as teams behind and below the carts propelled them forward. Leaning forward and blinking her eyes for clarity Miranda heard, “Bee-do-bee-do!!!!”

The lift numbers lit up as the carriage moved away from the odd details of the lobby and Miranda could almost dismiss them from her mind. She focused on composing her list for Emily, once again First Assistant. The woman had a walking cast and a cane according to Nigel. He seemed concerned that her note taking ability was compromised. Miranda rolled her eyes as she remembered the conversation. She knew the girl could remember everything if she’d just take a deep breath and calm down.

The editor found that the expenditure of mental energy was completely futile, as the door slid open and she was confronted with a yellow creature cooing at her, while fending off another yellow creature with her cane. The red hair, walking cast, cane, and eye shadow registered in Miranda’s brain as vaguely Emily Charlton in character. Stepping forward uncertainly, Miranda tilted her head to watch as the pair of creatures followed her. The red haired one clearly huffed at the other, turned, and gave it a good kick with the casted leg. Satisfied at the distance the other creature covered as a result and the heap it made against the wall, the red headed one quickly caught up with Miranda.

Throwing her coat on the desk and letting her bag land on it, Miranda called out, “Coffee.” Before she slipped into her inner office area.

“Coffee. Coffee. Ooooooo. Oooooo. Yes. Coffee.” She heard an odd gleefully chanted refrain of her order slip away. After several moments of quiet, she tucked in behind her desk and attempted to settle into her usual routine. The magazines were fanned out over her desk, a San Pellegrino and glass with ice waited off to the side, and the most recent copy of the Book rested where her laptop normally lived. Flipping through the Book, Miranda attempted to lose herself in the physical reality of the pages instead of the electronic versions she had been working with during her extended absence. The press hadn’t been sure what to make of her detour after fashion week. All the papers had picked up on the divorce headlines, though some had also picked up on the conflict within the fashion world of Runway and the parent corporation of Elias-Clarke. Some predicted outright failure of James Holt’s new enterprise, while others speculated on the vacuum left at the top of Paris’s leading fashion publication and how it could affect Paris’s standings in the fashion world without adequate representation. None had picked up on the absence of a certain brunette second assistant.

Closing the Book, Miranda pulled it with her as she rounded her desk. She needed to check in more formally with Nigel and move them beyond the perfunctory words of their working relationship. Knowing he might be her only link to Andrea beyond the letter of reference she had faxed to the Mirror, Miranda prepared herself to not only apologize, but to explain as well. She needed her friend and wanted her colleague.

Entering the Art Director’s Lair, Miranda clutched the Book close to her chest and froze just inside the threshold of the room. Various ladders and tracks had been constructed inside the office to connect the various levels of the room and the light table in the center. A pile of photographs and other detritus had formed in the center of the light table. Miranda had never seen such a filing system before, but she did note that the pile had been constructed under a new vent in the ceiling of his office. The top photos and papers fluttered gently and she guessed that it had some kind of vacuum function. Filing it under ‘expedient trash disposal’ in her brain, Miranda focused on the more pressing challenge of the completely bald yellow creature wearing round lens glasses, a colorful cravat, muttering to itself and puttering about up and down the ladders as she stood staring.

Crossing a wobbling rope bridge from the outer shelves to the light table with a pile of photographs in its hand the yellow creature narrowed its eyes when it saw Miranda and began muttering gibberish under its breath. Tossing the photos on the pile and stalking toward Miranda, the upset individual leaped off the edge landing on a lever and triggering it before landing on the ground.

Turning to face the light table, it glanced up and clapped its hands as the pile went up in flames. Bringing its hands together in satisfaction, the balding fellow turned and fixed measuring eyes on Miranda.

Before the staring contest could get into multiple rounds, the assistant minion came in murmuring, “Coffee. Coffeecoffeecoffee.” It handed the steaming cup up to Miranda and then turned on its bald contemporary with a huff. Swinging the cane to distract its opponent, the red head lunged forward to grab the fire extinguisher next to the fire lever. Dropping the cane, the red head used the fire extinguisher as a weight to assist a gymnastic flip onto the bald one’s head and up and onto the table. With a burst from the fire extinguisher and a satisfied giggle, the red head returned to the edge of the light table and stared down. Shaking its finger at the bald one, she grunted something that resembled, ‘No fire. Baaaad.’

Miranda held the Book in one hand against her chest and took a sip from her scalding hot coffee as she pondered the universe she had stumbled into. The yellow creatures began a cartoon style beat and chase up and down levels and around the room punctuated with hitting noises, the shaking of furniture, the flare of the flame, the whoosh of extinguishing, and maniacal giggles.

A new yellow being arrived at the door calling out, “Mirandaaaaaaaaa.”

The fighting warriors stopped on top of the light table facing the door. When the new arrival seemed about to breach the doorway at Miranda’s feet, the bald one pulled a remote control from its pocket and pressed a button. The new arrival hit against a barrier with an ‘ooomph’ and bounced away from it rubbing its head and muttering.

On the light table, the former combatants turned to each other and gave a high five followed by mutual cheering of each other. The bald one dragged a ladder over and helped his difficult companion to ground level.

Testing out her words, Miranda called out, “Emily.” To her disgruntled satisfaction, Miranda watched as the red headed being straightened up her posture, tucked her cane under her arm and saluted. Tilting her head, Miranda tried the other name uncertain whether she wanted an affirmative reaction or not. “Nigel.” The bald fellow straightened his cravat, jammed his glasses up on his face, and crossed his arms over his chest before huffing at Miranda and deliberately not holding eye contact with her. “Unreal.” Miranda muttered before taking another sip of her coffee.

The minion in the hall had been defeated by the force field. It had shaken itself off and wandered away. As Miranda glanced around the Art Director’s office and then out into the hallway, she noted that the temporarily defeated minion was running down the hall with a shoe held over its head and a tumbling, hitting, grunting mass of yellow beings following behind it. Miranda tucked back inside the relatively calm realm of the Art Director’s office and ignored the Nigel creature’s raspberry noise of pursed lips as it turned its head away from her.

Just at the doorway of the Art Director’s lair, the runt creature launched the shoe with a slingshot pulled from the front of its overalls. A war cry of, “Choooooooo!” came from its lungs as the parade of beings behind it rushed forward fighting to get to the flying shoe that with its tumbling trajectory revealed itself to in fact be a Jimmy Choo kitten heel.

Inside the Art Office, the red head hit the bald fellow with her cane as she lunged forward to follow the stampede. The Nigel creature in turn tripped her and jumped onto her back to catapult forward. The pair of them scrambled forward hitting, scratching, and uselessly waving their arms at each other as they headed toward the exit. Just when they would have crossed the threshold, the runt outside the door pulled a remote control from its pocket and pressed a button. The quarreling pair hit the barrier with an electrifying result.

“Choo?” The unknown creature taunted them. Then it tsked its teeth at the pair and marched off whistling.

Mildly worried about the force field, Miranda stepped out into the hallway to watch the creature saunter away. Impressed that the barriers only seemed to work on the yellow denizens of Runway, Miranda returned to the two she had identified. “Who was that?”

Giving the extended raspberry once more, the bald figure promptly stepped up to the light table cupboards and began pulling tools out before turning his attention to the doorway and pulling apart the electrical system.

Shifting her attention to the Emily figure, the editor raised one eyebrow to repeat her question.

The red head dramatically waved her hands toward herself, held up two fingers, and disgustedly called out, “Doi.” Then with a raspberry worthy of an Emily eyeroll, the creature hit the Nigel figure on the back of the head for not breaking them out fast enough. With hands on the location where hips might have been located, she huffed, “Choooooo.”

 

***

 

Ruffling her bangs in disgust, Andrea pulled her buzzing phone from her pocket and groaned. Her screen lit up: iMessage—Emily Charlton—Emily sent a photo. Swiping her thumb across the screen, Andrea opened the message application on her phone. Another picture of a yellow butt filled her screen. The first few times had been shocking. The several after that had been amusing because she could just imagine the red head finally snapping and giving in to her basest desires to send juvenile and mildly mean images and texts to people. After that, Andrea had alternately found the photo messages annoying and intriguing. The images had a level of detail that she couldn’t imagine Emily going to the trouble to find or create, never mind how to get the image from what appeared to be an old-fashioned photocopy machine ‘butt photo’ into a modern smart phone.

She supposed the woman’s wrath knew no bounds.

Sighing, the brunette slipped the phone back into her trouser pocket. She had stopped responding to the messages hours before, but could not bring herself to block the woman as one of the only links she had to Runway and more importantly to Miranda.

Online news, such as it was, indicated that Miranda had returned to Runway that morning. As the number of butt pictures crept into the triple digits, Andrea found herself wondering how the enigmatic woman was faring, if her most devoted disciple had been sending different yellow butt pictures to her all day.

Deciding that a text to Nigel would be in order, Andrea picked her way across the newsroom floor of the Mirror. Outside the building, she typed simply, Everything alright over there today? They had been in touch after Paris, and she knew that he would know all the other questions she wasn’t asking and that he could choose how to respond and what to type by name. I think Emily’s phone has been hacked or there’s something wrong with her pain meds. Andrea added after a couple of minutes’ silence. She hoped that he could at least check on the redhead, even if he didn’t have the time to stop and compose a reply to her text message.

After several minutes of pacing back and forth in front of her building, Andrea gave up and returned to her desk. She had walked away in Paris. An oddly phrased recommendation had landed her a new job. Nigel had taken her to task for playing the martyr in Paris. Now she had to move on whether her bed was lined with nails of her own making or not.

Settling in at her desk, Andrea groaned as her phone vibrated in her pocket. Of course, you reply now that I’ve come back inside to work. She ruefully considered as she checked the device for Nigel’s answer.

Faced with yet another butt picture from Emily Charlton, Andrea’s eyes fluttered closed as she sighed in disbelief.

When her phone vibrated again, she fully anticipated yet another asinine photograph. Instead her free hand slapped over her face in order to try and block the image identified as iMessage—Nigel Kipling—Nigel sent a video. Swiping her finger across to reveal the message, Andrea exposed an initial image of what might have been TWO yellow butts on a photocopy machine followed by unsteady camera work and then a poor view of a fight between yellow creatures. Dreading it, Andrea held the phone to her ear, so that she could hear the sound as well. Hearing a wet sounding raspberry of disgust and then a delighted giggle in the background before there were the sounds of scuffling, Andrea bent her first finger and bit into the flesh to convince herself that she was awake instead of having a nightmare.

Out of the frying pan and into the fryer. The phrase passed through Andrea’s mind as she gathered her things, stood and smoothed her clothing into place, and approached her editor’s office. Job Probation was still fully in effect, but if both Nigel and Emily had been compromised in some way, then Andrea felt duty bound to investigate. The potential of supporting Miranda in a time of need when her team had gone berserk would be an added bonus.

“Er, Chief.” Andrea awkwardly addressed her boss from the doorway. “My friend is very sick and doesn’t have anyone to help out. I need to leave early today.” Tapping her laptop case, she added, “I can work tonight and will not miss any deadlines.” As her phone vibrated in her pocket, she grimaced and hoped that he would assume her friend was texting urgently for support.

“This cannot become a habit.” He fixed her with a stern gaze before he nodded his acceptance and waved her away.

Skipping steps as she rushed out of the building, Andrea miraculously hailed a taxi within walking the block.

Glancing down at her phone, Andrea’s eyes widened until they hurt as she pulled up another video sent from Nigel’s account. It showed a red headed yellow body’s figure sitting on a photocopy machine, that Andrea recognized from the Archives floor below Runway. The light underneath the figure indicated that it was in fact making an image of the yellow figure’s backside. When it was done the red head hopped down from the machine and rushed to high five the videographer. The video jerked for several seconds before falling to the ground where it pointed up to capture the image of two yellow bodied figures hitting each other and alternately grunting, crying out, and giggling as further physical assaults continued. Eventually the redhead looked down at the camera and pointed and laughed. The companion creature leaned forward wearing familiar glasses. Then both of the figures blew raspberries and moved away. The video images once again jerked around the room as it was lifted. The video ended.

Emily is a red head. Andrea thought distantly. Nigel wears glasses exactly the same as those ones. Her brain communicated with a little more focus this time.

“What the hell?” Andrea murmured aloud as the cab turned down a familiar street.

Marveling at the construction transforming the entirety of the Elias-Clarke building, Andrea missed the fact that the work was being carried out by yellow figures in blue overalls with various distinguishing accoutrements including badges, tool belts, magazine logos, or even argyle socks.

At the security desk, Andrea eyed the curiously wobbling tall figure in trench coat, sunglasses and wide brim leather hat. It didn’t ask her what her business was, but made a sort of non-verbal noise of query. When Andrea declared that her purpose was to visit Miranda Priestly at Runway, the figure made an ‘ooooing’ sound of awe and pressed the under the counter button to allow her access to the elevators.

Shaking her head at the thought that the hand she’d caught a glimpse of might be yellow, Andrea hurried to the lifts. Pressing the button, she glanced up to check the progress light. It moved faster than any elevator she had ever seen moved. The door slid open and Andrea was greeted by a yellow figure that drew itself up to its most formal height and posture before waving questioningly at the display options.

Andrea indicated her floor, “17 please.” When she went to push the button over the figure’s head, he swatted her hand away and made a wait and see gesture.

With great delight, the creature pressed the button for 17 and a new button Andrea hadn’t seen before with the image of a rocket ship over it. The lift blasted up with a force and velocity that Andrea had only encountered in such tourist attractions as the Sears’ Tower in Chicago or the Empire State Building here in Manhattan.

After a handful of seconds, the lift lurched to a sudden stop and Andrea stumbled against the wall for balance. When the door slid open, she glanced back at the creature inside the elevator in wonder. It took no notice of her as it pressed another series of buttons and the door slid closed before a great rattling indicated its lift off once again.

Glancing to the left and then the right, Andrea narrowed her eyes at the apparent lack of activity on the Runway floor. Gripping her laptop bag tightly, she made her way down the same hallway that she had followed Miranda down for nearly a year. If she closed her eyes, she could almost convince herself that the woman was there listing tasks for the day and exuding the allure of confidence, power, and natural beauty highlighted by the fashion chosen for the day.

“Choooo?” Andrea heard the soft question as she passed one of the lesser halls of Runway. She continued forward as discussion of the famous shoes or their maker would be common enough in the halls of the fashion magazine.

“Chooo.” From the next hallway, the call was certain instead of querying. Andrea hastened her steps toward the Editor’s office.

“Choooooo!” The word extended and changed into a war cry. Shifting her focus slightly to use her peripheral vision, Andrea caught sight of a sea of tumbling yellow figures rushing down the hallway toward her.

Practically jumping forward on her chosen path, the brunette could make out many voices calling the same word over and over as they audibly trampled each other in her direction.

Crossing into the assistant’s area, Andrea saw the silver haired woman that had never left her mind. The woman had stood and aimed a remote control at her, but Andrea knew with the pack of creatures on her heels that she could not stop her forward motion. “Miranda!” She called out, hoping that the other woman would shut the door if she made it to her office.

The sound of bodies hitting some kind of barrier at the edge of the assistants’ area caused Andrea to turn around. An entire horde of yellow figures lay piled up at the invisible barrier. A few still groggily called out, “Choooo.” Every now and again a hand would rise from the top of the pile and be pulled back down violently.

“Take them off, Andrea.” Miranda’s voice returned the brunette’s attention to her apparent savior.

Gasping her confusion and jumbled desires, Andrea asked, “What?”

Quirking an odd smirk at her former assistant, Miranda called as she turned back into her office, “Your shoes. Take them off.” When no further movement or sound followed her, Miranda called from inside her office, “By all means move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me.”

Blinking her eyes rapidly as if that would somehow shutter the situation into a different reality, Andrea gave up when her eyelids hurt. Slipping out of her shoes and carrying them with her, she belatedly realized what she had been wearing in connection with what the tiny terrors following her had been calling out so desperately. _Shoe fetish?_ Andrea amusedly thought to herself. Then unable to stop the pun, she thought. _Choo fetish_.

“Put them in my drawer so they are out of sight. Emily and Doi can get through that force field as they are the assistants and you don’t even want to see their reactions.” Miranda had pulled open her desk drawer as she made the offer and gave an explanation.

Andrea dropped her Jimmy Choos in the drawer and then pinched herself. She glanced around for flying monkeys or pigs, and promised to buy a lottery ticket on the way back to Kansas.

“What the actual hell is going on here, Miranda?” Andrea could not believe what she was now being forced to believe. Yellow minions had invaded Runway, or the Runway Crew had been turned into Minions, or some kind of combination of both. Flashes back to the elevator, the lobby, and the construction around Elias-Clarke flittered into her brain in a fast loop as she put facts together to form a theory.

“This is what I arrived to this morning.” Miranda waved her hands toward the entire floor of Runway or perhaps the entirety of the building. “The incompetence is morphing into evolutionary proportions. I took time away during which I believed things were continuing as usual. I walked in this morning greeted by an alternate reality. Quite frankly, I’m surprised Irving Ravitz hasn’t come in here to blame me and demand that I fix the situation. As if I knew how.” Miranda turned to face out the window as she realized just whom she’d been talking to and in what way. She never had been able to keep her guard up around the younger woman.

Her shoes held hostage and her heart not much better off, Andrea swallowed down a variety of questions, replies, and random thoughts. The older woman had been so open in her explanation that her suffering had to have been heavy on her mind. It hurt that she knew Miranda had closed down once she’d realized whom she’d been addressing. Andrea hated that the older woman always seemed to catch herself around Andrea. Once it had thrilled her to catch glimpses of the woman behind the façade, because she convinced herself that it meant Miranda regarded her as special. However, those same moments became bitter sweet as Andrea re-wrote the story to understand those moments as times Miranda guarded against her as she did not want to be associating with Andrea even if it felt natural to do so.

“Emily and Doi can get past the barrier. Are they, um, also yellow and, um, oblong?” Andrea frowned as she heard how absurd her question was, even it if was accurate.

“You should see, Nigel.” Miranda sighed as she trailed her fingers over her statement necklace.

Recalling the video, Andrea realized that she had in fact already seen both Nigel and Emily. “Oh god.” She sighed as she fell into one of the visitor chairs.

 

***

 

When Miranda’s eyebrow crawled north to indicate a question, Andrea pulled her phone out of her pocket. “They’ve been sending me photos and videos all day.”

Miranda held out her hand to reach for the phone and then sighed and let it drop to the desk. “I’m sure I don’t even want to know.”

Silence settled between them only decorated around the edges with construction noises, explosions, and the occasional chanting. Neither could quite wrap their minds around where they were, who they were with, and the circumstances creating the white noise outside.

“Why are you here, Andrea?” Miranda couldn’t fathom how the girl had practically run from her as though her knickers were on fire and then showed up on her first day back. She had never been good friends with coincidence, though she found that she didn’t consider Andrea a suspect in whatever this Yellow Overall Madness was about.

Letting out a big sigh, Andrea chose to stick with the simple answers for now. “I was worried when Emily’s messages to me in a single day went triple digit. Not to mention the content in them. Then when I tried to contact Nigel, he sent me a rather disturbing video of the two of them—fighting or playing, or maybe play fighting.” Andrea shook her head as though she could dislodge the memory replaying in her mind. “My worry kicked into high gear at that point and I came to see what was happening. You should sanitize the photocopy machine in Archives and put up one of those force field things.” Andrea shuddered at the thought of the poor abused machine.

Miranda’s mouth opened and closed again as she anticipated having words and then lost them again as she processed. Closing her eyes against the vulnerability she would have to show, Miranda asked, “Would you please stay and try to salvage some of the afternoon? I’m at such a loss. On one hand, they can make a rocket elevator and hot coffee, but then on the other hand they cannot manage more than a coherent word or two when they answer the phone or try to spell something in a message.” Miranda shuddered as she relived the nightmare of watching the yellow creatures outside her office.

“Miranda, I will stay for you. I won’t stay for Runway, but I will stay for you. I’m sure that we can figure this out.” Andrea stood and began to make her way to the Assistant’s area. “Um, can I get out with the force field on?”

Miranda swept around her desk in hurried moves on bare feet. “Andrea, wait.” Miranda swallowed hard when she came face to face with the brunette. “You ran away from me then. Why would you stay for me now?”

Andrea tilted her head and blinked hard to fight back a sudden tear. “Am I wrong to think that you’re happy to see me?” She blinked again as she reached out for Miranda’s hand. “As happy as I am to see you?”

Stepping even closer as her hand was tugged toward the tall body of her former assistant, Miranda admitted, “You’re not wrong.” Her eyes searched Andrea’s face over and over.

Andrea let her mouth curl up in a full smile that only beamed more when she saw the flicker of admiration and desire in Miranda’s blue eyes. “Let’s get Runway sorted, so that we can have an overdue conversation about this elephant, hmm?”

Holding Andrea in place by their joined hands, Miranda reached up to cup Andrea’s cheek. When that wasn’t enough, Miranda stepped forward to tangle her fingers in the loose brown tresses. Their bodies now aligned, Miranda closed her eyes in order to control her impulses. When she thought she could hold back enough to not press their closeness any further, Miranda quietly urged, “Promise me, Andrea. Promise you won’t walk out.”

Accepting the solemnity of the moment, Andrea nodded. “We will talk and I won’t walk out.” When she saw Miranda’s answering head nod of acceptance, Andrea closed the distance between them to press her cheek against the editor’s and reach up with her free hand to trace the edge of where her hair teased against her neckline with her fingertips. Breathing in deeply and trying to memorize the moment, Andrea exhaled as she slowly stepped back and mourned the loss of their body contact.

A loud raspberry being blown alerted the pair that the yellow creatures had returned. Not only that, but they disapproved of their behavior. “No touchy. Baaad.” The redheaded one scolded as she swung at Andrea with her cane.

“Emily.” No one could ignore the whip-crack in Miranda’s voice the yellow creature stood at attention immediately. “Nigel has been setting fires again. Go.”

Rubbing its hands together, the assistant creature took no further notice of the women as it rushed out of the office. “No fire. Baaad.” It repeated to itself in between what could have been a jumbled mantra of plotting for execution and mad giggles.

The other yellow creature had shifted closer to Andrea little by little with its mouth opening and pair of teeth at the top beginning to show as it planned to take a bite out of her shin.

“Doi.” Miranda once again sliced through an evil plot directed at Andrea. “Go organize the Closet, but stay out of the Vintage Section. I will need your special help with that later.”

Eyes widening in delight, the one called Doi practically vibrated before lifting off the ground and rushing out of the office whisper chanting, “Choooo. Chooo. ChooChooChoo.” They watched until it disappeared in the distance.

“Who is that?” Indignant Andrea asked after the secondary creature.

Miranda shook her head and held up two fingers and repeated the name. “That’s all the Emily gave me. She pointed to herself and then held up the two fingers and called her that. I can only assume it means Two or Second as she is meant to be the new Second Assistant and Emily is back to being the First.”

Andrea shook her head. “You know this smells of Ravitz. Has he been around today? Or has he been avoiding you after his loss in Paris?”

Frowning, Miranda acknowledged, “I have not seen him, though I can’t say that I would have gone looking for him.” The phone rang and a barefoot Miranda led the way out of the office. “Andrea, please, be a dear. While I go check on our not so illustrious leader.”

 

***

 

Finishing her current tasks, Andrea examined the assistant’s office around her and the recent transformation that it had gone through. Realizing that Miranda had not returned from Irving’s lair, she felt a stab of worry down her spine and she jumped up from the chair.

Passing Nigel on the way to the elevator, Andrea asked, “Have you seen Miranda?”

He blew a puff of air at her and pointedly adjusted his tie as he walked away.

“Are you mad at me or Miranda?” Andrea couldn’t help calling out after him.

Holding up two fingers that could indicate the number or a vulgar salute(maybe both), the little yellow being half turned and gestured again as he called back, “Doi!”

Feeling the emptiness of the corridor settle in around her again, Andrea muttered to herself, “Let’s talk when you’re not an angry yellow jellybean anymore, yeah?” Shaking her head against the madness, Andrea continued toward the lifts. “What the hell flavor is a yellow jellybean anyway? Egg yolk? Banana? Lemon? Oh, that’s right.”

Not even bothering to try for the buttons in the Atomic Lift, Andrea indicated the top floor of the building for Mr. Ravitz’s office. The strange creature spit on the floor and then pressed the button in disgust. With that déjà vu feeling, Andrea asked the creature, “Are you mad at me or the top floor?”

Not having enough fingers on the little hands, the being gestured wildly to the button still lit up and then spat on the floor again.

Glad for that tiny bit of clarity, Andrea was careful not to step where the spit must be with her bare feet as she exited the lift.

Troops of yellow creatures rushed about in the corridors, the lights flickered and were at some kind of weird energy saver partial darkness level. Even when they were useful, and there were the unmistakable sounds of warfare or the audio track of the Saving Private Ryan opening scene. The smoke in the air indicated that perhaps the noises were actual instead of pre-recorded.

In the hallway leading up to the Chairman’s office and secretarial area, Miranda was leaning against the wall and observing the brightly lit chaos from within the overlord’s office. “What’s going on?” Andrea whispered as she came to a stop just behind Miranda.

“We were right to suspect Irving, though I admit that I am enjoying this far too much to want to stop.” Miranda’s voice was filled with glee as she turned and physically pulled Andrea to stand just in front of her. With her face at Andrea’s ear and her body brushing ever so lightly against the younger woman’s back, Miranda filled her in. “They seem to each have one of those guns and it appeared to transform the victim into a yellow creature or reverse them to human form. They keep doing it to each other in a cycle that had perhaps been going on for hours. As they watched, Irving Ravitz appeared and then angrily shot at the woman in his office, whom Miranda identified as his secretary. The woman then became a yellow creature who, without pause, shot Irving into yellow being-ness once more and then shot herself to reverse the effects. Irv followed suit not more than a few seconds later.

Meanwhile on the floor around them troops of yellow creatures squared off in battle marking their won territory with a giant EC or R flag.

“I think your team is winning, not counting the standoff in there.” Andrea gestured at the wall behind Irving Ravitz, which was painted in blood red dripping letters that read, “MIRANDA IS KING.”

Miranda leaned fully forward to press against Andrea, taking the liberty while the moment seemed right between them. “I hope that we can get a photograph of him in front of the words before this is all finished.”

Settling her body back against Miranda, Andrea hummed. “I used to be able to accomplish the impossible for you, so we’ll see.” She gasped a little at how flirtatious she had been and then moaned when she felt Miranda’s hand rest on her hip possessively. “I know you want to savor the moment, but how are we going to stop them and get Runway back?”

Resting her chin on Andrea’s shoulder to pout, Miranda admitted. “They all have a weakness for the shoes, Andrea. I’m sure we can use that to our advantage and then grab the converter guns and shoot them in the back to return them.”

Andrea laughed. “They’ll just attack my feet or yours.”

Chuckling against Andrea’s cheek, Miranda countered the objection. “Doi has a slingshot. I’ve seen her bait the others and then launch the shoe, so that the others scramble after it.”

Turning so that she was front to front with Miranda, the brunette barely resisted the urge to press their lips together. “Let’s rally, Emily and Doi then. I’m not sure if Nigel will come along. We can have them pin Irving to the wall and video the transformation. Then we can have Doi and Emily slingshot the masses away so that we can get the guns and start fixing people.”

When Miranda nodded, their lips brushed together twice, which was enough to ignite the barely controlled fires between them in a sudden and crushing kiss. Hands tangled in hair, hands wandered, legs pressed in between the others and lips, tongue and teeth performed a master performance of impromptu kiss par excellence.

Pulling away from each other in awed shock and fevered want, they panted, “Still have to talk.”

Nodding at the mutuality of the statement, they clasped hands and made their way back to the shoes and assistants that would make their rescue possible.

Hiding the coveted shoes in Balenciaga bags, they led a twitterpated pair of assistants on a mission to capture Irv Ravtiz, pin him to the wall, and then distract all the others with their prizes while Miranda and Andrea got their video of Irving and then restored everyone. All it would cost them was a pair of Jimmy Choos for each assistant.

 

***

 

After everyone in Elias-Clarke had been restored to their original being status, Irving Ravitz was taken into custody by the police when his secretary called them. There was some confusion about what charges she could have filed since no one would have believed about the little yellow people. However, no one doubted that she would have had the proper documentation of more than one crime.

Instead of missing the disagreeable little man, they began to slip into his office and take selfies in front of the ‘Miranda is King’ declaration. Only the brave actually asked Miranda to join them, and she was in the mood to reward them. Andrea took as many photos as she could manage.

When the moment had truly passed them by, Miranda had simply called for the car and led the way out to meet Roy. Perhaps no work had been accomplished, but Miranda fully accepted that was worth it while Andrea sat close to her in the town car and she never pulled her hand away from Miranda’s own.

“So elephant time?” Andrea had wiped her free hand on her trouser leg nervously. Then in her true rambling nervous fashion, she proceeded to simply express what was on her mind and what she thought was on Miranda’s mind. “I should not have left the way that I did in Paris. I am truly sorry for being unprofessional.”

Andrea blinked a few times, but Miranda did not interrupt her. “Somehow our relationship became personal and when I saw the shenanigans that you pulled in order to save your job here, I couldn’t believe that you would do that to your friend. I mean, I knew that you knew he was up for that job and that it was his dream. I knew that he is one of your dearest friends. If you could do that to him and not even tell him in advance, well, what would you do to some nothing assistant with a Midwestern Awe-Shucks sort of style who didn’t even know this belt from that belt? You could just toss me out like the garbage in the morning. And that was assuming you even thought of me at all and I hadn’t just dreamed it up in my head.”

By themselves the words would have been rather hurtful, even if they were true to what Andrea had understood at the time. Miranda kept her breathing deep and slow as she focused on the fact that in addition to Andrea explaining what she thought at the time—she was there with her now, holding hands, after coming to check on her and the Runway crew in an incredibly strange time of need.

Andrea paused to breathe and let her eyes wander over Miranda’s face as the New York scenery passed them by. “I am sorry I was unprofessional. There aren’t really any excuses regardless of what I thought. Perhaps it makes what I did more understandable to you or maybe just me, but I’m not trying to say what I did was okay.” Andrea swallowed hard and then continued. “Based on this afternoon and our effortless closeness, I hope that I am not alone in thinking that there is a personal side to our relationship. I also understand that business shenanigans are not the same as personal relationships. Nigel is still pretty upset about how things went down, though he is clear that it was not about your friendship and that work and personal between you will heal in time.”

When Miranda raised an eyebrow in question to that, Andrea nodded. “He was really funny today and not very nice to you, but I think that was a combination of how he feels and the crazy mixture of his sarcasm and Minion behavior. You saw how he was with Emily.” Seeming to run out of words, Andrea shrugged and waved her free hand in a gesture that seemed to indicate, ‘that’s all.’

Grinning at Andrea, Miranda pulled their hands into her lap so that she could fiddle with Andrea’s fingers in both of her hands. “The Runway decisions were business and I am glad you recognize that. With your new job, the work-issue a moot point between us. I really don’t know how we became personal without either of us noticing, but I am glad that we are taking this opportunity to find out what it could mean. That said, I am heading into divorce proceedings and we will need to stay out of the press’ spotlight.”

When Andrea shifted to move away from her, Miranda tugged on her hand to indicate that Andrea should stay. “That is not to say that I will wait one second longer to pursue you. Please join me in the townhouse for a drink, perhaps dinner, perhaps more.” Miranda leaned closer and closer to Andrea as she felt the car slowing to a stop. At the last second she pressed a feather light kiss to Andrea’s lips and then pulled away as the door opened to let them out. “Coming, Andrea?” She held her hand back toward the younger woman.

 

***

 

“I wonder if I could make the cover of Evil Lord with this video?” Miranda laughed as she settled in next to Andrea on the study sofa. “No, I guess not since it wasn’t my evil plan to begin with.” Miranda sighed and let the phone settle on the side table with a thud.

“Evil Lord?” Andrea wrinkled her brow in confusion. “That’s a magazine? See, you said it like you wanted to make the cover of a magazine?”

Murmuring her agreement, Miranda reached for her phone again. “It is. It is the Magazine of Super Villains.” Then with an exclamation, she identified the possible source for their yellow creature problem. “That’s it. That’s where I’ve seen those yellow creatures before.”

Andrea groaned and pulled a decorative pillow over her face as she recollected the photo shoot to end all photo shoots. It achieved legendary status, because it was primarily sabotaged, no, no, staffed, by yellow creatures in blue overalls. Though they had been fixated on the rather benign or banal fruit of the BANANAAAAA. “Gru. Gru, did this to you, Miranda? Are we fighting a Super Villain now? What the hell?”

Setting the phone back down, Miranda tugged the pillow away from Andrea’s face. “No, darling. Irving was quite clearly cursing Dr. Nefario. You remember Gru going on and on about the fall out that they had before the photo shoot, don’t you? My guess is that Irving met up with Nefario to attempt to bring about my demise and it backfired on him spectacularly.”

Andrea grinned up at the silver haired woman who had never left her thoughts. “I’ll send him a gift basket tomorrow.”

Miranda turned and scooted as close as she could manage to Andrea. “Yes. Tomorrow. I believe that we have finished our conversation and are ready to explore this.” Miranda reached up to trail a fingertip over Andrea’s lush lips and down her body until she was teasing the neckline of Andrea’s shirt.

“Almost.” Andrea groaned as she tried to capture the tantalizing fingertip. “What happened with Nigel?”

Miranda blew a big raspberry that lifted the lock of hair always in her face. “He said it was apropos that I shot him in the back. Again.” At Andrea’s sound of disgust, Miranda nodded solemnly. “Once I explained the behind the scenes details to him, of Paris and today, and then outlined the plan for the future—he just grinned and asked if he could keep the fire lever system.”

Fighting the urge to rush the conversation so that she could begin exploring the beautiful editor, Andrea asked, “Did he say why he was angry with me?”

Miranda shifted to straddle Andrea’s legs and grinned. “He was very put out that you had walked away like a child in Paris and then missed out on the Minion Adventures and followed that all off by coming in to save the day like some kind of White Knight.” Seeing Andrea ready to ask more questions, Miranda leaned down and captured her mouth in a kiss. Pulling away, she gazed fondly into her eyes and assured her. “I think that you can talk to him tomorrow, while I talk to Gru. Just make sure you have copies of all the photos and videos that they sent you yesterday before you show them. They’ll make you delete them and I have ideas for an in-office art show.”

A laugh bubbled up from inside Andrea at that prospect. “Yes, Miranda.” Andrea readily agreed before pulling the older woman down for a series of kisses that never seemed to truly stop.

 

_**End.** _


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